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SCORIA. 



SCORIA. 

EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

(1864) 

WHAT WE BREATHE. 

. (1869) 

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-EVE. 

(1874) 

THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

(1879) 

By ELI as COLBERT, M.A. 



(FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.) 



C H I C A Cx : 
FERGUS PRINTING COMPANY 

1883. 



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The Eulogy on Shakespeare was pronounced 
(by Evelyn Evans) in Bryan Hall, Chicago, 
April 23, 1864; at the Tercentenary celebration 
of the poet's birthday. As it has been sub- 
mitted to a Procrustean process, for publica- 
tion in the "Analytical Sixth Reader" and "The 
American Elocutionist," I consider myself justi- 
fied in reproducing it, entire, for private circu- 
lation. 

It is due to the truth of history to say that 
the Eulogy was written " on the spur of the 
moment"; at the request of a committee from 
the St. George's Society, who discovered, only 
two night's before the celebration, that the task 
had been neglected by a gentleman to whom it 
was originally assigned. I have preferred not to 
make a few changes, suggested during a more 
leisurely perusal. 

The "First Christmas Eve" was written under 
less pressure for time; which, to the work of the 
journalist is not always an advantage. It Avas 
published in the " Tribune," of December 24, 
1874. 



''What We Breathe" is copied from the 
''American Builder", for April, 1870; but, as a 
matter of authorship, nearly all of it belongs to 
the work of the year 1869. 

"The Sun that Never Sets" was prepared in 
response to a toast assigned to me on the occa.- 
sion of celebrating Washington's Birthday, at 
the University of Chicago, in 1879. ^^ the 
hall was too dark to permit reading, the "points" 
of the paper were not all brought out ; and the 
astronomical class of that epoch did not know 
how little it missed for want of more light on 
a dark subject. 

These articles are diversions from the prosaic 
routine of the commercial department of a 
newspaper, and the still graver logic of "celes- 
tial mechanics". If not deemed worthy to be 
called " pearls of thought", they may perhaps 
take rank with the Gracchi, who, it will be re- 
membered, Avere Cornelians. If not that, then 
the reader may fall back on my own designa- 
tion; and class them as scoriae. 

E. C. 

Chicago, May i, 1883. 



SHAKESPEARE 

1564-1864. 



Three hundred years ago to-day was born in 
an obscure village in the middle of England one 
who, though boasting no honorable birth, was 
destined to shine as the sun in the literary fir- 
mament — William Shakespeare, the Bard of 
Avon. History does not state that an eagle 
hovered around his infantile head, or that he 
strangled a serpent at his birth. He was a com- 
mon looking child, with common surroundings. 
This, and nothing more. 

Neither in his boyhood do we witness the 
exhibition of any of those feats of intellectual 
prowess with the record of which historians 
delight to deck the monuments of departed 
heroes. We read of no prodigies of childish 
acquirement, no precocity of intellect; — not even 
of that strange and wondrous leaning and long- 
ing after the beautiful, which is usually dig- 
nified with the name of juvenile genius. None 
of this; and opportunities for the development 



6 EUI.OGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

of the latent talent within him were few indeed. 
He received but a common-school education at 
the free-school in Stratford, which in those days 
meant — we can not say how little. Even that 
was soon concluded through family misfortune. 
Nor in his adolescence did he give audible 
promise of that sunlight of intellect which was 
destined to flood the whole earth with its rays, 
through all coming time. 

As was the boy, so was the young man : giv- 
ing no sign of future greatness, save in the pos- 
session of that free, fearless spirit of adventure 
which is the true type of Nature's nobleman — 
he who disdains the petty conventionalities and 
repudiates the trammeling formulas of society. 
He surrounded himself with family ties at the 
early age of eighteen; and even in that ad- 
vanced stage of existence we recognize only the 
spirit of a man which, like the young eagle, 
wastes not its strength in petty circling flights 
ere its pinions are grown, but remains unseen by 
the other denizens of the air till it has attained 
the power to soar heavenward amid the bright 
effulgence, almost at the first essay, leaving all 
others far away in the ignoble depths below. 

His earlier life is nothing save as a prelude to 
the coming man. His boisterous sportings, his 
carousals, his experience as tutor even, are as 
naught. In his deer -stealing experience we 
first see the germ of poetic talent; and to that 



EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 7 

act of indiscretion we are indebted, probably, for 
all worth knowing. That flicrht to London at 
the age of twenty-three, to escape the wrath of 
a Lucy — ignoble as it was — proved to be the 
road to his usefulness and renown. How shall 
we trace him thereafter, through the successive 
occupations of call-boy, minor actor, writer, and 
leader, till he became the bosom friend of earth's 
noblest minds, among whom he shone as the 
sun among stars — the man before whose amaz- 
ine intellectual wealth all who knew him bowed 
in reverential homage.^ 

We can not follow his history chronologi- 
cally ; it is only as the natural historian counts 
developments and compares phases of existence 
that we can hope to study him. The lapse of 
less than three short centuries has enveloped in 
the cloud of tradition all that pertains to his 
personal career. Yet these clouds are only as 
the fog on the horizon. Above that bound 
rises majestically the orb of light — the one cen- 
tral mind, which, like the god of day, sends 
forth scintillations, innumerable and eternally 
enduring. Scarce a breath of vapor obscures 
the view. The difficulty, if any, lies only in 
ourselves, as unable to bear the effijlgent plenti- 
tude of his beams, we blink and gaze, and turn 
and look again, till almost blinded with the 
effort. See him as he darts forth his rays of 
purest light, illumining the dark and hitherto 



8 EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

undiscovered recesses of the human heart, bring- 
ing into full play the affections and passions, 
and powers of his characters, and opening up to 
us a mine of rich treasures, sparkling and flash- 
ing like the blaze of diamonds, where before we 
only saw the dim shadowy outline of its form. 
Watch him as with true pantomimic power he 
exposes to view all the variations of human 
thought, and action ; and with kaleidoscopic 
versatility changes from scene to scene, from 
object to object, till w^e are bewildered with the 
effect, and feel — if not intoxicated like the 
opium reveller — yet as if the tree of the knowl- 
edge of good and evil had shed its fruit for us, 
and we had eaten and become truly wise ! 

In this one trait lies the peculiar, the omnipo- 
tential power of Shakespeare. He does not 
attempt to create character, but to unfold it. 
He aims not to give to the world that which 
was noty but to reveal that which was and is and 
ever shall be. He sought not the vain glory of 
a Faust who was swallowed up by his own crea- 
tion, but to hold the mirror to already-existing 
nature, to give herself undisguisedly, nothing 
extenuating nor setting down aught in malice; to 
present the image of the things themselves, and 
edify or amuse only by their comparisons or 
contrasts. Beyond this he had no ambition, he 
soared not after the illimitable, or even the diffi- 
cult; his situations are all possible, his actions 



EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 9 

natural; the substantive is presented first, then 
the verb; the accessories are applied judiciously, 
never with a too lavish hand. 

It is of the heart that Shakespeare speaks; he 
probes to its inmost recesses, and lays bare its 
most hidden workings. The subterfuges of the 
hypocrite are like plastic clay in his hands. At 
*'one fell swoop" he dives deep and brings to 
the surface the leading trait, which there fixed 
is surrounded by its necessary adjuncts only. 
In each of his personalities one sees the innate 
character — the primary motive of action; it 
shines out in every word, defying concealment. 
Neither are they elaborated so as to be weari- 
some. One touch, and the image is before you, 
not a thousand labored words, but one bold, 
truth-speaking line brings out in full relief all 
one needs to know. Another and another is 
treated with equal skill. Almost in the twin- 
kling of an eye, the panorama is before you. Its 
parts all separately introduced; yet so rapidly, 
and so skilfully blended, as to give the idea of 
complete, perfect oneness. 

As he speaks of the heart, so he speaks to 
the heart. His portrayals are things of life — 
speaking likenesses. We appreciate them instan- 
taneously. Not that it is given to any one man 
in any age to comprehend the inexhaustible 
variety of character to be found in his works, 
but that all not beyond our experience, and 



lO EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

therefore above appreciation, is instantly recog- 
nized as a perfect personation. Hence the 
varying estimation in which Shakespeare is held. 
The most unlettered boor is melted to tears or 
carried away in raptures at a proper rendition 
of his characters, because there is a language of 
the heart which needs no learning to enable us 
to interpret. But he comprehends not all. 
The more exquisite touches, the blendings of 
the natural with the artificial, are only to be 
duly appreciated as we rise in our knowledge of 
humanity. Our horizon is limited thus by what 
we know; but never yet has one attained to 
that elevation whence he could look down and 
beyond the confines of Shakesperian thought. 
He who knows most has always venerated the 
Bard most highly; and inasmuch as the heart of 
man is substantially the same in all ages and 
under all conditions, variable only in its mani- 
festations, the perfectly truthful is always recog- 
nizable under the shifting shams of civilized 
advancement. That which is true in one age is 
true in all; and the characters of Shakespeare 
will never die, never grow antiquated, but 
always retain the vigor and freshness of the 
Elizabethian age, so long as humanity itself 
endures. 

This plentitude is now so universally acknowl- 
edged, that criticisms are justly regarded as odi- 
ous. To tell how well or how badly Shake- 



EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. II 

speare wrote, to attempt to institute a standard 
of judgment, is just so much as to essay the 
determination of absolute brightness in the 
solar ray — it is rather the standard of perfection 
to which, as to a touchstone, we refer all else. 
We say "Shakespeare wrote," and we say "The 
sun shines." The want of appreciation in either 
case lies not with them but with us — the clouds 
that obscure the car of Apollo are of earthly 
origin ; beyond them the sun always shines 
bright, serene, clear, beautiful, perfect. 

The natal day of Shakespeare is also the da}' 
of St. George. While Englishmen may feel 
justly proud of his fame, they are only his more 
immediate neighbors. The whole world claims 
kin. A perfect cosmopolite in thought, he had 
made the learning of other peoples his own; he 
was equally at home in delineating the special- 
ties of men of foreign birth as of those who 
drew their first breath on his native soil. 

Two hundred and forty-eight years have 
passed since the great one departed. He still 
lives — his memory shall never die. Far as the 
wide range of civilization extends, his works are 
read. The Hindoo and the Laplander, equally 
with ourselves, appreciate them. In his writ- 
ings, the great Shakespeare flourishes in immor- 
tal youth. When the conquerors of earth shall 
have been forgotten, he who opened up a new 
universe of thought shall be cherished in the 



12 EULOGY ON SHAKESPEARE. 

memories of a grateful world. Each succeed- 
ing age does him greater homage; and when 
man shall have attained to the highest possible 
perfection of intellectual culture, then, and then 
only, will the value of the services which he ren- 
dered to humanity be really appreciated. The 
noble thoughts to which he first gave expres- 
sion will form the axiomata of future ages, and 
their purifying, elevating, ennobling influence, 
will largely tend to bring about that for which 
all men pray — the good time coming. Then, 
and then only will his eulogium be written; 
then only will the world know how largely it 
has been indebted to William Shakespeare. 



WHAT WE BREATHE. 

1869-70. 



In the January number of The Builder we 
published a few facts in relation to the suspen- 
sion of common salt in the atmosphere, and its 
distribution over the whole earth's surface. Our 
statement was that the quantity of salt taken up 
from the ocean annually is equal to a layer of 
one- sixteenth of an inch in thickness, spread 
over land and sea. But salt is only one among 
thousands of substances which the winds lick 
up as they flit along; and carry about, to be 
deposited in some distant quarter. 

We are all familiar with the fact that a strong 
wind raises clouds of dust; but few of us stop 
to consider of how many different forms of mat- 
ter that dust is composed, or how much of it is 
continually held up from the bosom of mother 
earth, even in the calmest day. To appreciate 
the first, we must remember that not only are 
earth and stones pulverized by passing wheels 
in the street, but that disintegration is an inevi- 
table concomitant of existence. We construct 



14 WHAT WE BREATHE. 

a monument of the hardest marble, and the 
tooth of time eats into it remorsely till it crum- 
bles away, and the deepest inscription is eventu- 
ally effaced. The iron column rusts away, and 
wooden furniture decays and mildews, even when 
shut up in a still room. The iron tires, and the 
shoes of man or horse, which pulverize the 
stone or grind up the wooden pavement in 
traveling, are themselves rubbed away in the 
process, and require constant renewal. The 
pores of the skin give forth a continuous per- 
spiration, and from the breathing organs of men 
and animals a never-ceasing stream of gaseous 
impurity is poured forth into the air, bearing 
with it myriads of solid particles which are no 
longer needed in the system. And as with the 
animal, so with the vegetable world. The pollen 
of the growing flower, and the fully -formed 
seed, are carried off on the wings of the wind; 
the withering leaves are blown hither and thither, 
and pulverized till their constituent particles are 
fit to be borne aloft in the serial flight; and the 
plant itself follows in the same endless proces- 
sion, after it has fulfilled its allotted individual 
mission. 

"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt 
return," was a part of the original sentence; but 
its application is not limited to man; it applies 
to all created things. Even the waters of the 
ocean become dust, after having been evapo- 



WHAT WE BREATHE. 1 5 

rated, and sent down from the clouds to form 
part of the structure of plant and animal. Alike 
from the granite rock, and the fluttering wing 
of the insect, the winds continually sweep off 
minute particles of matter, reducing the former 
in size, and requiring the incessant formation of 
new vitalized structure to keep up the bulk of 
the latter. All forms, animate and inanimate, 
alike turn to dust. 

We may gain a faint idea of the enormous 
quantities of this mingled detritus of animal, 
vegetable, and mineral matter, which are nor- 
mally contained in the atmosphere, by a little 
investigation. The hardest glass is scratched 
by much rubbing, though with the finest hand- 
kerchief — a fact which astronomers recognize, 
and rub the glasses of their telescopes as little 
as possible. In this case, it is not the fibre of 
the handkerchief which scratches, but the minute 
particles of dust that float in the atmosphere till 
they become entangled in the filaments of the 
cambric. Look at a sunbeam as it comes through 
the window: you see millions of atoms dancing 
about in it. There are just as many atoms of 
dust in the same number of cubic inches of at- 
mosphere in any other part of the room, and we 
fail to see them only because they are not con- 
trastively illuminated. Professor Tyndall has 
shown this by a beautiful experiment, in which 
he illuminated different portions of a room with 



ID WHAT WE BREATHE. 

a beam of electric light. Nay, more; we have 
good reason to suspect that we are dependent 
for the sensation of light, in a great measure, on 
the presence, of these very dust particles in the 
atmosphere. But for their presence, the rays of 
light would flow in direct lines, as is the case in 
the upper regions of the air, where all is com- 
paratively dark except when the observer looks 
directly toward the sun. The general diffusion 
of light is due to the reflection of the rays in 
every direction by these air-motes. 

This general view of the subject gives great 
interest to the question, "What do we breathe.^" 
We are no longer confined to the old-fashioned 
supposition that if we but avoid certain un- 
pleasant conditions, we shall take into our lungs 
only pure oxygen and nitrogen, with a little 
water vapor. The air we breathe is laden with 
impurities. In the air of the streets we inhale 
particles of limestone or granite from the pave- 
ment and houses; pulverized wood from the 
"Nicholson" and the sidewalks; infinitesimal 
doses of iron, leather, and textile fabric from 
the hoofs of equines and the clothing of our fel- 
lows; effete animal matter thrown out from the 
lungs of man and brute; excrementitious par- 
ticles of numerous kinds; constant doses of 
sooty matter, and other products of combus- 
tion; and remnants of unused food, which are 
gathered up by the winds, and distributed "that 



WHAT WE BREATHE. I.7 

nothing may be lost." In the country we may 
have less of some of these ingredients, but their 
comparative absence is amply supplied by an 
excess of vegetable debris. And in both, and 
all localities, the air teems with minute vege- 
table and animal forms of existence, some of 
which find there their appropriate sphere, while 
others are simply waiting for an opportunity to 
develop into larger individualities. It is now 
considered to be well ascertained that the 
causes of many diseases float about in the 
atmosphere, not as inorganic miasmata, as was 
formerly supposed, but in the shape of vege- 
table sporules, or animalcula, which germinate 
in the human system under favorable conditions, 
after having been received into the lungs in the 
act of respiration. 

It is more than probable that the philoso- 
phers who are investigating the subject have 
allowed fear to exaggerate fact to some extent; 
yet the general conclusion is undeniable. There 
are several forms of epidemic, the transmission 
of which can be explained in no other way. 
We may instance traumatic (wound) erysipelas, 
which is now known to be a fungous growth. 
It will often spread through a hospital in a few 
hours, though the patients are entirely isolated, 
except as they have atmospheric communica- 
tion. So with small-pox, which is not simply a 
contagion, because it is often extended without 



1 8 WHAT WE BREATHE. 

contact. In the former case the vegetable 
spores are undoubtedly carried by the atmos- 
phere from one wound to another, vegetating 
externally. In the latter case the poison (prob- 
ably organic) is carried by the same vehicle, and 
enters the lungs. 

These facts give a key to the philosophy of 
the simple preventive often resorted to by phy- 
sicians and nurses in dealing with the sick — 
placing a handkerchief over the mouth. The 
dust particles are stopped by the woven tissue, 
while it permits the unladen air to pass to the 
lunsfs. There is, however, another fact, which 
does not seem to be equally well known — the 
nostrils are provided with an arrangement of 
little hairs, apparently placed there to fulfil the 
same end. This system of hairs catches the 
particles of dust, and allows the air to pass 
freely. There is no similar protection in the 
mouth. Hence air respired through the mouth 
is laden with impurities which can not enter the 
lungs through the nose. The inference is plain 
that in exposed situations the mouth should 
always be kept closed. It is also evident, that, 
as the air is always more or less loaded with 
dust, there is continual danger in breathing- 
through the mouth; and, other things being 
equal, those who sleep wdth the mouth open will 
be the most liable to disease. 

There is one important fact which seems to 



WHAT WE BREATHE. 1 9 

have been altogether lost sight of by those 
engaged in this interesting investigation. It is 
that the human system, as the systems of all 
other organized beings, is built upon a plan 
which exactly adapts it to the circumstances 
that surround it. Only when some one of the 
elements of those circumstances is in excess, or 
deficient, either in mass or force, does evil ensue 
to the organism. Very many of the substances 
which modern investigators have regarded as 
hurtful to man, are essential to his existence. 
Take carbonic -acid gas, for instance, which is 
sent forth from the lungs with every act of 
respiration; it is poisonous if mixed with the 
atmosphere in more than its usual proportions, 
but its presence is absolutely necessary, not 
only to the subsistence of plants, and hence to 
man indirectly, but directly to him as an essen- 
tial of his growth. Carbon enters largely into 
the human structure, and so does lime, which 
appears to be only appropriated by the human 
body when presented in the form of a carbonate. 
There are those who predict the ultimate extinc- 
tion of man from the face of our globe, when 
the carbon shall all have been solidified by the 
shell-fish and the corals. It is highly probable, 
that if the air were purified of all the other mat- 
ter which is usually regarded as extraneous and 
noxious, man would be unable to live in it. Not 
only are pure air and pure water (as the term 



20 WHAT WE BREATHE. 

pure is usually understood) not necessary to a 
healthy existence, but a certain degree of im- 
purity is one of the conditions of life. We 
have already noticed that the floating particles 
of dust are universal light reflectors; and with- 
out their aid in diffusing the rays of light, we 
should soon grow blind, unless the human eye 
should be found capable of adapting itself to 
the exigencies imposed by the new condition ot 
things. They undoubtedly have their mission 
to perform in the lungs; for we can not suppose 
that they are all strained out in the nostrils. 
The ciliary arrangement in the nasal apparatus 
only keeps out that which would be injurious, 
and allows free access to a normal proportion of 
the atmospheric burden. Hence we only need 
to adopt exterior respiratory precautions under 
conditions of unusual danger. And more than 
this: we are warranted in assuming that the 
ordinary use of an artificial respiratory appara- 
tus would work a positive injury, by keeping out 
of the system some of the elements that are 
essential to a healthful condition of the frame, 
w^hich, after all our study, is so little understood. 
City life is artificial; but not to the extent 
which many would have us believe. Man is a 
gregarious animal, and, except when perverted, 
has a natural longing for the society of his fel- 
low-beings. The universal harmony of means 
and ends, which reigns throughout nature, does 



WHAT WE BREATHE. 2 1 

not warrant us in supposing that our mental 
longings are normally in a direction contrary to 
that which instinct would dictate, were it not 
overshadowed by reason. The atmosphere of 
a city is not necessarily conducive to short life. 
There are many occasions on which it is unduly 
laden with comminuted animal products, but w^e 
have already seen that the air of the country is 
not exempt from its share of the burden, which 
it seems destined to bear. 

The idea that the atmosphere is, or ought to 
be, composed simply of oxygen and nitrogen, is 
a delusion; and can only be entertained by one 
whose views of the constitution of matter are 
bounded by a very limited horizon. Our earth 
is an assemblage of material substances, possess- 
ing different specific gravities, and endowed also 
with diverse chemical properties. Without the 
latter, these substances would long ago have 
arranged themselves in distinct strata; the heavi- 
est nearest to the centre. Thus we should have 
in the ascending scale, the metals, then the 
rocks, perliaps water, and oxygen, nitrogen, and 
chlorine, hydrogen taking the outer place. But 
the chemical affinities of all these substances 
tend to produce a continual union. The double 
movement of the earth around the sun, and on 
her own axis, causes perpetual changes in the 
location of the point of greatest activity of these 
forces, and the changing position of the moon 



2 2 WHAT WE BREATHE. 

causes a continual shifting of the centre of 
gravity of the whole mass, and of its constitu- 
ent parts. As a result of all this, we have an 
incessant change of location and form; alternate 
formations and disintegrations of inorganic mat- 
ter, amid which the vital principles of plants and 
animals are able to assert a temporary dominion, 
by assimilating portions of the vast mass of 
moving atoms into forms which are fit theatres 
for the display of the vital functions. And, 
"Such is Life." Liquids circulate among the 
solids, and are spread out among the gases. 
Solids are taken up in solution by liquids, and 
the gases mix and blend, mechanically and 
chemically, among themselves, and with all 
other forms of matter, the atmosphere being 
thus not a distinctive substance, but a mere 
emanation from the mass beneath, constantly 
interchanging with it, and may be most properly 
defined as composed of the lighter and most 
minute particles of the various elements, which 
make up the sum total of our globe. 

Into this material republic, where none, save 
the sunbeam, can assert a mastery, the individ- 
ual man is introduced. He must take this grand 
conglomeration of elements as he finds them. 
His assimilative powers are exactly adapted to 
select from the melange, that which is requisite 
to the building up of his body; just as the vege- 
table instincts of the tree and flower enable 



WHAT WE BREATHE. 23 

them to select the elements which are needed 
for their nourishment. The more man attempts 
to doctor the circumstances by which he is sur- 
rounded, the greater chance will there be of a 
speedy inheritance of immortality; and it is 
only when temporary disturbances of the grand 
equilibrium arise, that he will benefit himself by 
bringing his reasoning powers into play. In 
other words, however repulsive may be the idea 
of inhaling solid matter at every breath, it is 
just what we were intended to do; and avoiding 
precautions are injurious, except under the con- 
dition of malarious diseases, or unusual turbu- 
lence in the amosphere. 

The very same law holds good with the ears, 
as with the nose. Our aural organs are provided 
with ciliary appendages, which prevent the intro- 
duction of injurious particles. Hence it is worse 
than useless to clean out the internal part of the 
ear, and the practice has probably caused more 
deafness than any other six causes put together. 
Unless in abnormal conditions of the body, the 
ear secretes just wax enough for its own uses, 
and no more. To "clean" it out stimulates the 
secretion, if it do not absolutely injure the tym- 
panum. Of course all that part of the ear which 
lies outside the general surface of the head, 
requires frequent ablution. 

As with air, so with water. Medical men 
have all along told us that the best water for 



24 WHAT WE BREATHE. 

use is that which is the purest; that is, which 
contains the least proportion of other substances 
than hydrogen and oxygen. Singularly enough, 
it is now a well-established fact that the people 
who drink soft water, and those who drink water 
which holds the average amount of mineral 
matter in solution, die off in the proportion of 
13 to 10, other things being equal. 

Truth is always consistent with itself; and 
science is the knowledge of truth. The great 
end of science is a knowledge of the truth about 
ourselves; which involves a cognizance of our 
relations to surrounding objects, and hence to 
the whole universe. The basis of much of this 
science rests on the apparently very unstable 
foundation of "what we breathe." 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS-EVE. 

1878 YEARS BEFORE A.D. 1 874. 



Many centuries ago, long before the ruthless 
hand of science had snatched away the golden 
chain which linked the angels and the stars 
with men, in daily communion, 

When time was young, 
And birds conversed as well as sung; 
And gift of speech was not confined 
Merely to brutes of human kind, 

the whole creation, since reduced by modern 
philosophy to an innumerable assemblage of 
masses of inanimate matter, dotted, here and 
there, with specks of thinking organism, was 
instinct with life. Man was not, then, the sole 
entity of intelligent existence in the visible uni- 
verse. The beasts of the field and forest held 
parliamentary sessions. The birds of the air 
met in joyous conclave to discourse their 
thoughts to each other. The denizens of the 
briny deep claimed oral affinity with their 



2 6 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 

brethren of the land. The insect world thought 
aloud; and even the trees and the grasses were 
endowed with the power of speech. Still, man 
was the most highly favored of them all. The 
angels came down in the daytime, and talked 
with him; while at night the stars twinkled 
responsively to his salutations, and pointed out 
to him his destiny as they slowly wandered 
through the heavens. There was sin in the 
world, and "death by sin," for primeval inno- 
cence no longer existed. But the harmony of 
nature had not been disturbed by the iconoclast 
of to-day. The morning stars sang together, 
without fear of modern criticism, while the Sons 
of God "shouted aloud for joy"; and the 
refrain was taken up in gladsome chorus by the 
inhabitants of earth, the whole creation joining 
in a vocal anthem in praise of its Creator. 

Years rolled by. Other years followed in 
their train, and yet more; the gloom cast o'er 
the face of Nature by "man's first disobedience, 
and the fruit of that forbidden tree" deepening 
with the flight of centuries. Gradually the 
angels withdrew from the walks of men. The 
stars grew more "distant," shrinking from famil- 
iarity with the growing corruption of the human 
race; and the lower animals became dumb with 
astonishment at the conduct of their representa- 
tives in the court of the higher intelligences. A 
night of thick darkness had settled down upon 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 27 

the descendants of Adam; their accumulated 
wickedness cried to Heaven as the blood of 
Abel. A fate seemed to be impending, bitter 
as that which befell the inhabitants of Sodom 
and Gomorrah — universal as that which over- 
took the world in the days of Noah. 



It was a lovely night, near midwinter, 1878 
years ago, as the sun touched the lowest point 
in his southward trend, before rising again 
toward the summit of the heavens, when Nature 
was roused from her slumbers to witness and 
take part in an event which formed a third 
epoch in the history of the world. No tocsin 
gave warning of an occurrence equally memor- 
able with the creation of our own globe; but 
the news was mysteriously conveyed to every 
part of the universe. From the bright shining 
stars to the least particle of matter that forms 
a molecule on this earth, all were wakened up 
into new life; all partook of an excitement not 
paralleled since the ultimate atoms first began 
to gather together to form chemical elements 
and then worlds. 

A little spot in the beautiful land of Palestine 
was the centre of an attraction, equally wonder- 
ful, and not less mighty, than that which causes 
the ponderous Jupiter to revolve around the 
sun. The birds of the air came flocking to- 



28 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS- EVE. 

gether, attracted by the mysterious influence, 
which they seemed to recognize, if they could 
not understand. The beasts of the field gathered 
from afar, in lessening circles, and went down 
on their knees in solemn reverence. Even 
the animals that prey seemed to forget their 
instinctive desire to devour, and stood trans- 
fixed with silent aw^e. The clouds which had 
gathered early in the evening slowly disappeared 
as midnight approached, melting away into 
nothingness through the ethereal vault; and the 
very face of nature w^as changed, the grass 
springing up, and the trees blossoming anew as 
when the summer draweth nigh. 

The earth was canopied by the most brilliant 
of the starry host, and from the northwest to 
the southern quarter of the heavens stretched 
the milky stream of starlight that once formed 
the pathway along which angels passed on their 
errands between man and the throne of the 
Eternal. Only two of the then-known planets 
were above the horizon. The moon was nearing 
the end of her last quarter, following the beautiful 
Venus, which, about the time that the first gray 
streaks of dawn were visible in the eastern sky, 
would rise as Phosphor, or ''Lucifer, the son of 
the morning," heralding the approach of the 
sun. Mars had already sunk in the west, and 
the winged-heeled Mercury was near the Nadir, 
dancing attendance upon Apollo in the stellar 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 29 

Hades. The giant Jupiter, with his httle family 
of worlds, had recently passed near the zenith, 
and his light rivaled that of the mighty Sirius; 
both far outshining the jewels in the Belt of 
Orion, which were nearly equidistant from those 
two resplendent orbs. Jupiter was preceded by 
his elder brother, Saturn, whose paler light was 
scarcely less bountifully dispensed to the inhab- 
itants of earth, as he ticked off the flight of 
time at the rate of one year for each day in the 
lunar circuit, — a labor which had long before 
gained for him the title of "Chronos." 

Suddenly the heavenly vault itself seemed to 
be quickened into a new life; expanding inta 
the forms that had been assigned by the earlier 
sages, which changed their attitudes into unison 
with the scene below. The Lamb (the Ram of 
our present Zodiac), sinking peacefully to rest 
in the bosom of night, aroused itself at once to 
take part in the solemn pageant. Cassiopea 
looked up from her throne, and the shackles 
fell from the limbs of Andromeda at the touch 
of her deliverer. The Bull ceased his threaten- 
ing attitude toward the monster Orion; who, in 
return, dropped his club, and lifted his foot from 
the neck of the Hare, which he had trampled 
into submission for untold ages. The Bears, 
high up in the northeastern regions, paused in 
their journey around the Pole (to escape the bite 
of the howling dogs, and the lash of the venge- 



30 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS- EVE. 

ful Herdsman), and looked down upon the scene 
with equal interest; while the hounds them- 
selves, as if wearied with the chase, turned to 
gaze in mute adoration. The Wagoner rested 
in his attempt to lasso the Twins, who twined 
still more closely in their loving embrace. The 
Lion, toiling rapidly up the steep ascent toward 
the fervid heats of the mid-heaven, no longer 
roared defiance to the rest of the heavenly host, 
but bent submissively, as if charmed for awhile 
into pristine innocence by the majesty of the 
scene. The Raven ceased its croaking, and the 
Snake withdrew its forked tongue, as if it, too, 
would be at peace with earth and Heaven. 
The Greater Dog, stern but faithful guardian of 
the Nile, who had heralded the rising of its 
mighty waters many centuries before the pyra- 
mids were built, or the Sphynx put forth its 
riddles, assumed a look of unwonted benevo- 
lence. The Virgin, coming up from the East 
with a sparkling brilliant in her hand, shining 
resplendent, like Venus rising from the sea- 
foam, was bathed in beauty, glittering in all 
the purity of maidenhood. 

Gradually the sun neared the lowest point in 
his diurnal circuit. As he touched the nether 
meridian, the constellations themselves gave 
way, and broke up in the glow of light from 
their component gems. Every member of the 
stellar universe was again individualized; but 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EV£. 31 

only that each star, shniing brightly in the 
cloudless sky, might be transformed from a 
speck of light to a living being. Their scintil- 
lating rays assumed the shape of pinions, on 
which the celestial messengers of the Eternal 
winged their way through space. The majestic 
Sirius, brightest of all the stars, and prince of 
the firmament in the absence of the god of day, 
seemed like the archangel, whose effulgence out- 
shines that of the ordinary seraph, as the sun 
pales the moon when in her presence. The 
valiant Procyon followed in his train. The 
mighty Arcturus, "with his sons," pointed tow- 
ard the throne around which clustered the cher- 
ubim, as they winged their flight toward the 
earth. The beauteous Capella took up her kids 
to do honor to the occasion. Castor and Pollux 
suspended their arrangement to be immortal 
by turns, and moved together in a harmonious 
blaze of glory. The maimed hand (Chaph) 
assumed a female form that beckoned to a 
celestial Elysium. The "Basiliskos" (cor Leon- 
is) appeared as the Lion of the Tribe of Judah 
from whose loins should spring the Lord's 
Anointed One; while Aldebaran led the w^ay. 
Only one of the prominent stars in the visible 
heavens failed to join in the great transforma- 
tion; the Demon Star, in the head of the 
Gorgon, retreated behind its gaseous satellite, 
as if ashamed to appear in a physical aspect 
3 



32 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 

not in harmony with the rest. It was a con- 
course of stars, of angels, of men; that seemed 
to be gathered with a common object, — uniting 
for some common purpose, that should be 
fraught with untold happiness to the inhabi- 
tants of earth. 

Amid this unwonted display, the two greater 
planets had moved silently and steadily, though 
swiftly forward, seeming to take no heed of the 
general transfiguration. Now the radiance of 
Jupiter took on the form of the god whose 
thunders had shaken Olympus in the hoary 
past. But his hand no longer held the bolts 
before which heaven had so often quailed; it 
now grasped the trident of Neptune, the symbol 
of a mysterious Trinity, soon to be revealed to 
the world. Then, even Olci Father Chronos 
paused in his tireless flight, and, from his posi- 
tion on the prime vertical over the western hori- 
zon, waved his hour-glass as a signal that the 
culminating act in the drama should begin. As 
he did so his features seemed to change from 
the rugosity of age, back to the juvenile fresh- 
ness they exhibited when he set forth on his 
travels at the dawn of creation. The phenome- 
non was a fit accompaniment to the beginning 
of a new era; the year "one" no longer dating 
from the time when the breath of life was 
breathed into the nostrils of Adam by the Elo- 
hiiJ2. The signal was responded to by six of 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 33 

the seven daughters of Atlas, the Pleiades, who 
moved eastward to the zenith. Since then the 
seventh has been invisible to mortal eye, her 
brightness being dimmed by the act of disobe- 
dience, as Adam lost his corona of light when 
he fell. These six, the Western Atlantides, 
more favored than their sister Hyades, wended 
their flight toward the Crab, in mid-heaven. 
From out its shining depths they culled the 
Cradle nebula, which, studded with living jewels, 
between two milk-white asses, was born by them 
downward, and to the spot where the worshipers 
of earth had gathered in reverential attitude. 
As the gorgeous procession neared the ground, 
a tiny human form appeared within the burden, 
and the very air seemed to be warmed as by the 
breath of Omnipotence. Then the angelic forms 
assumed by the stars in the Belt of Orion, which 
had "come up from the East" during the even- 
ing, approached as three kings, their flowing- 
beards and talismanic- covered garments pro- 
claiming them as belonging to the Magi. They 
bore rich offerings in their hands, which they 
laid at the feet of the little stranger. The first 
a purse of gold, the offering of earth-dross to 
the heaven -born one. The second, a a;ift of 
precious stones, brighter than an}^ that adorned 
the crown of Solomon or the breastplate of the 
High Priest of Israel in the days when God an- 
swered his chosen people by Urim and Thum- 



34 'fHE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 

niim. The third offered rich spices, whose per- 
fumes, filling the air, were emblematic of kingly 
adoration in life, and also of preservation in 
death. As they drew around the infant form, 
the earth-born ones chorused forth a joyous an- 
them, which was taken up by the whole host of 
heaven, and chanted in every part of the uni- 
verse, "Peace on earth, good-will to men." 



The morning twilight dawned upon a world in 
slumbers. The stars had resumed their places 
in the firmament, and their light rapidly faded 
before that of the approaching sun. No trace 
remained of the midnight pomp; except a baby, 
"wrapped in swaddling-clothes and lying in a 
manger," near which was grouped a party of 
shepherds, who had left their flocks reposing in 
the neighboring fields while they went to see 
what had caused the unparalleled commotion of 
the previous night. 

Unparalled afterward, as before! The his- 
tory of that night was too grand to be repeated. 
A tradition existed, for many centuries after- 
ward, that on each return of the anniversary of 
that concourse, the cattle on a thousand hills 
repeated the obeisance then tendered Him to 
whom every knee should bow. But even that 
homage is no longer paid. The cold facts of a 
Gradgrind-world are not now disturbed by best- 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 35 

ial deference or devotion, still less by celestial 
interference in the affairs of men. The stars 
have ceased to be personal, though they yet 
teach general truths to those who interrogate 
them aright ; and nature no longer speaks, 
except in that still, ^mall voice, in which the 
Prophet Elijah heard more than was told in the 
whirlwind and the storm. But the events of 
that night have formed the warp of all subse- 
quent history, the woof to which has been 
gradually filled in by man in succeeding genera- 
tions.- Not until the angel stand with one foot 
on the sea and the other upon the earth, and 
swear by Him that liveth forever that there 
shall be time no longer, will that mighty web 
be finished. Nor will it be unraveled in eter- 
nity. The peace then declared between man 
and his Creator, sealed by the blood of the 
Holy One, and ratified by the deaths of count- 
less thousands of martyrs, is a bond between 
Earth and Heaven that may never be broken. 
It is a peace which passeth all understanding; 
and, like the Word of the Lord, then given, 
endureth forever. 

[Note. — There are good reasons for placing the 
Birth of Christ four years earlier than the date as- 
signed by the Christian era. The writer also wishes 
to disarm hostile criticism by admitting that the 
"Hunting Dogs" are not in the list of constellations 



36 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS -EVE. 

enumerated by Ptolemy. If any one still objects 
that they ought not to have been introduced, or that 
the Magian gifts have been misrepresented, he, or 
she, is commended to the Apology of Phaedrus, — 
^'' deledamiis fictis fabiilisJ'^ 



THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

1732-1879. 



I WAS informed last Monday evening that I 
should be called upon to speak to this topic, and 
have prepared myself accordingly ; like the boy 
who backed himself with three or four thick- 
nesses of carpeting when told to prepare for a 
whipping. My first idea was that you expect 
from me a learned essay on solar physics, which 
should begin ab initio, like Jenkinson in "The 
Vicar of Wakefield", and carry you down to 
the time when Macauley's New Zealander will 
lament the destruction of our big telescope. 
But, on second thoughts, I remind myself, as a 
Frenchman might say, that astronomy is my 
pet weakness; and have determined not to fol- 
low the example of the man who could never — 
that is, almost never — talk for three minutes 
without dragging his little bay pony in by the 
ears. I have decided to gratify my taste for 
unnatural history by changing the U into an O, 
though I run the risk of breaking Grimm's law 
into a thousand pieces. 



38 THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

We need not long follow the modern method 
of hunting down, to find our subject; though we 
may not be able to recognize him by the hay 
on his horns. The son referred to necessarily 
belongs to the ovipara; since the act and fact of 
setting is absurd where there are no eggs — un- 
less,- indeed, we except the setter-dog of the 
sportsman, who "set by the fire" when satisfied; 
and Sheridan's oyster, which could not be a fine 
native because it was a settler. Our research, 
then, rapidly bears down upon that department 
of natural history known as ornithology; and — 
well, the joke is so tame that we may regard it 
as fairly domesticated. 

I confess that the day, or rather the morrow, 
suggests the eagle; that proud bird of freedom 
which, at the bidding of our friend Harrison, 
flaps his wings all over this broad continent in 
less time than it took Logan to master the 
financial question. I might say that the time 
referred to was a fortnight, but am afraid the 
joke would be two week to be of value. The 
eagle enjoys the proud distinction of having his 
pinions plumed for a flight into the eye of the 
sun, by the immortal George Washington — I 
was tempted to say the talon-ted Washington, 
but will not say it, and beg the pardon of the 
District of Columbia for having even thought 
of such a half-fledged pun. A great deal more 
might be said in favor of the eagle, if I could 



THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 39 

only think of it; but I candidly confess that I 
do not hke the eagle, except when on a piece 
of gold, and will not further eulogize him — nor 
his son. I can not forget that one of the nations 
of Europe flaunts a $20 gold piece — I mean a 
double eagle — in the eyes of the world; and I 
hate duplicity — even in a star. I do not believe 
in seeing things double, not even a doiiblc-enten- 
dre. It is a reflection on the red-ribbon move- 
ment, which I heartily endorse — I mean the 
movement, not the reflection. 

It is the never setting son of the hen that 
merits viy praise. The rooster is king ! He 
may not be the Alpha of creation, but he is cer- 
tainly the Omega — if Sir Walter Scott is to be 
credited, and like the immortal George, he never 
told a lie. You all know to what I refer: — his 
eloquent description of *'The Lay of the Last 
Minstrel." 

Let me ask you — but no, I will ask myself, 
this not being a class-room — where would Kaiaop 
have been without his Transalpine Gallus.^ and 
how much would your classic history amount to 
without Caesar.? Once more, and this time by 
particular request, as they say in the advertising 
columns of the Trilnme, where now would be 
the glorious Union, for which Washington so 
gloriously fought, but for Grant.? and is not 
Grant a son of Gallina.? Still again, and this 
positively the last, what is the goose as com- 



40 THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

pared with the rooster, in the history of Rome? 
Ajiscr me if you can. 

I am proud of the fact that Washington and 
the rooster, between them, have solved one of 
the biggest problems that ever taxed the ener- 
gies of a mental philosopher; in his senior year. 
The question — which was created first, the hen 
or the Qgg"^ — was triumphantly answered a few 
years before Washington sought in vain for a 
Pons Asinorinn, over which he might cross the 
Delaware. The ^'gg of freedom was first made, 
and the boy George was raised up to hatch-it. 
And thus liberty was born; though more than 
half a century elapsed before its head was en- 
tirely freed from the shell. I am more than 
half-inclined to believe that the cherry-tree is 
as much of a myth as was the writing of his 
own plays by Shakespeare. It seems to have 
been put into the story by some one who did 
not comprehend the true inwardness oi the fact; 
and for that reason the commentators have 
barked around it for the best part of a century, 
in the fruitless effort to obtain uncommon taters 
by digging away at the root of the tree of 
liberty. 

To me the moral of the story is plainly on 
the exterior. If George had really wanted to 
cut down that tree he would have done it; and 
if he only wished to try the temper of his 
hatchet, as well as that of his father, he would 



THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 4 1 

have selected sterner stuff. His bio^^raphers 
had been more liber --A if less litter- al in de- 
scriptively strewing the garden with chips. 
There was evidently but one chip in the case ; 
and Washington senior recognized it as having 
been chopped from the old block. All else is 
purely fanciful — unless it be etymological. I 
incline to take the latter view. The liber cerasi, 
which I will not insult your intelligence by say- 
ing is Choctaw for "the bark of the cherry-tree", 
seems to have become the liber tree, which was 
corrupted into liberty — as liberty itself was cor- 
rupted into license when the painter of the pic- 
ture capped the climax of absurdity by supposing 
its leading feature to be a cap. Any electrician 
of today can tell you that the Gessler cap — the 
original of the idea — was only a Geissler tube, 
borrowed from Switzerland. Hence, if it be a 
piece of head-gear at all, it must be of the stove- 
pipe order of architecture. 

I tell you, Washington was a grand man; 
though I believe he never rose to the dignity 
of being a grand father — as so many of you 
have done. I will yield to no man in m)- 
admiration of his over-towering greatness, which 
will be remembered long after the best of us 
has been forgotten. That grandeur is one of 
the few human suns that never set. And he is 
especially entitled to admiration because he 
achieved magnificent results with small means. 



42 THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

You know it is proverbial that the best work- 
man is always the one who can work with the 
poorest materials and the fewest tools. The 
professor, for instance, who can fill a cabbage- 
head with Greek roots, or cultivate it up to a 
masterly knowledge of surds, deserves to rank 
high among his Fellows — or among other men, 
if there be no Fellowships in his University. 
Now, Washington made a cherry-tree immortal, 
and a nation free. He hewed out for himself a 
niche high up in the temple of fame, burst 
asunder the yoke of tyranny which had so long 
galled the necks of the American people, and 
cut down the prejudices of Europe against the 
principle and the practice of popular govern- 
ment. How grandly simple were the means he 
employed — the tool with which he worked! He 
did it with his little hatchet! He did! for he 
told us so himself; or rather he told his father; 
and it must be true, because he could not tell a 
lie. We have his own word for that, and he 
was certainly a much better authority than 
Mark Twain, who could tell a lie, but would n't. 
Give 7ne the boy who can not lie, and says so 
himself — when a Freshman. Such a one will be 
a jewel when a Sophomore — albeit despised like 
yEsop's jewel on the dunghill. He will have 
developed into a I'ara-avis by the time he is a 
Junior; and will become an angel in his Senior 
year, fit to graduate into paradise. 



THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 43 

If I were only a Joshua, who could make the 
sun abstain from setting, I might be able to say 
something, in conclusion, to the subject you 
have given me. But I am not. I do not even 
know an instance in which any one of the mil- 
lions of suns that dot the firmament does not 
rise, and set, to its attendant family of worlds. 
It is probable that every planet in existence has 
one point in common with the Celtic policeman 
who slowly made his way along the gutter 
because he was too spirited to use the sidewalk: 
— he was described as "Pat-rolling on his axis." 
I went a long way out West last summer toward 
the place where the sun sets, but was no nearer 
to the non-setting point than if I had stayed at 
home. My journey, in that respect, was about 
equally bootless with that of the 

bumpkin who had oft been told 

The story of the pot of gold, 

Which fame reports is to be found 

Just where the rainbow meets the ground. 

Permit me to hint, however, that where I 
have failed, others may be more successful. On 
this earth, no; but measurably so on our attend- 
ant moon. Keeping nearly the same side always 
toward us, the good people there, if any there 
be, on the hither side, will always have the 
earth above their horizon; and during a part of 
every month our globe will give to them nearly 
as much licrht as is received from the sun by 



44 THE SUN THAT NEVER SETS. 

the inhabitants of Neptune, the most distant 
known planet in the solar system. The result, 
however, is disastrous in the extreme, in a scien- 
tific respect. The earth-shine during their solar 
night is so intense that, with an atmosphere suf- 
ficiently dense to permit the existence of air- 
breathing beings, the lunarians are cut off from 
studying the stars — except a few of the brightest. 
We have good reason to believe that the moon 
was once inhabited, and that she probably is 
now a died-out world. The foregoing reasoning 
then must apply to the past, instead of the 
present. The Lunar habitants of a great many 
centuries ago could scarcely have been astrono- 
mers, as we understand the meaning of the 
word. To make the word fit them, we should 
have to change the order of the letters, and let 
it read "Moon-starers". 

Let me add that, so far as we can reason on 
the subject, we should be in the same plight 
now if we were blessed, or cursed, with a never- 
setting sun. The alternation of night with day 
is not only a merciful provision for the recupera- 
tion of exhausted Nature, but a wonderful aid 
to our knowledge; as without it we should 
scarcely be aware of the existence of any world 
outside our own. As Uriah Heep might have 
remarked, we have much to be thankful for; 
and among those things is the fact that our 
search for knowledge is not hampered by the 
presence of a "sun that never sets." 



yBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 115 946 3 # 



